


smoke filled rooms

by sarcastic_oatmeal



Category: Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018), Spider-Man: Noir, Spider-Noir - Fandom
Genre: BUT SPIDER NOIR NEEDS MORE, Multi, eventually this will have some relationships, just don't know what yet, some in canon comics, some in spider-verse, some not canon, spider-noir - Freeform, this work is honestly a mess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-01-14 21:16:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18484525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcastic_oatmeal/pseuds/sarcastic_oatmeal
Summary: Peter Benjamin Parker knew two things: crime never sleeps, and something big is on the horizon.(Listen, this is me just trying to connect the canon spidernoir comics to into the spiderverse because I have many, many questions).





	1. Cobblestone Alleys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * This story is going to follow the Spider-Man Noir comics canon, however I’m attempting to fill in the missing gaps between the comics and into the spiderverse   
> * Peter Benjamin Parker is 19 in this story (following the fact he’s trying to save for college in the comics)  
> * I really love spidernoir

Danger weaved its way through the crowd, slinking into alleys like a black cat. Feral. It oozed out of unmarked black cars, wafting into houses under the door and through windows. It hung in the air, watching, waiting.

Danger was always ready to pounce. 

Peter knew this. He felt it in every photograph he took, every street he walked in, every villain he tailed. He knew that danger would never dissipate, but simply retreat into the shadows, waiting for another chance to strike. Ever since his encounter with the Spider Goddess, Peter felt danger wrapped around him, suffocating him at all times. 

These thoughts preoccupied him as he trudged through the alley, tripod resting on his shoulder. Jameson had sent him to photograph an anarchist rally turned riot. Ever since that infamous Black Tuesday when the stock markets crashed, there seemed to be more and more instances of the people rebelling. People were mad, desperate, searching fruitlessly for a solution.

Peter didn’t blame them. He had felt anger once too when he was helping Aunt May in the soup kitchen. He had felt anger after Uncle Ben’s death after he was too late to save Robbie.  
But the anger was wearing off, ebbing slowly into a dull ache. What was it that Urich said? “You can’t spend your life being disgusted and outraged. You’ll go crazy.” Maybe he was going crazy, maybe he was losing his compassion for this city. Maybe Noir was tired. Every time he knocked one out, three more criminals popped out of the woodwork.

_Everyone takes their cut._

Peter was knocked out of his reverie, quite literally, when a figure barrelled into him. A kid, dressed in rags common for the local Hoovertown, was hiding behind him. Peter felt shaking hands grip his shirt. An iron grip.

“Whoa kid, what’s the-” A gruff shout cut Peter off. Heavy footsteps bounced off the walls, and a figure stepped into the alley.

“Where’s the fucking kid?” A shadowy outline of a man staggered towards Peter, words falling out of his mouth. A knife slid out of his sleeve.

“Listen, you’re fried. Why don’t you just head home, sleep it off. By tomorrow morning, you won’t even remember what this is all about.” Peter rose his arms up in an almost calming matter, but his fists were clenched. He learned long ago to always expect the worst.

“That...that..” the man slurred, using a word Peter knew was characteristic of the South “-r bitch...I’ll show you.” The man swung at Peter, sloppily slashing at the air in front of him. Peter dodged the knife, deflecting it with his arm. He raised his arms, preparing to web this sucker to a wall when a whimper filled his ears. Shit, the kid was still there. He couldn’t use his powers without risking outing himself to another person.

Peter changed stances and rushed the man. Twisting his wrist, he then delivered several hits to the man’s chest and face. He then dropped down to deliver a sweeping kick, causing the man to fall onto the broken cobble roads.

“Don’t ever let me hear you say that disgusting shit again, slick.” Peter spat as he stood above the motionless man. “We’re no better than those Nazis if we spread that filth.” Peter turned towards the kid and knelt down.

The young girl couldn’t have been more than seven. She was the characteristic dark gray color Peter had came to connect with African Americans. Her curly hair peeked out from an old newsboys hat, her sweater covered in holes. Her hands were shaking, and her eyes widened as Peter knelt in front of her.

“L...listen, sir. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop on his conversation… I’m just tryin to find my dad.” She whispered, her eyes never leaving Peter’s scuffed shoes.

“Well, what happened to him?” Peter said. The girl shifted her weight from side to side before opening her mouth again.

“He disappeared, left me and my mom alone. He’s not the only one, lots of folks been disappearing in our nook. We tried talking to the police, but…” her voice took on a hard edge to it, “ain’t nobody cares about a couple of blacks in the city. We’re too poor to hire a private dick, so I’m trying to find him on my own.”

She reminded him so much of Robbie, full of passion and spirit. Maybe that’s what softened his heart again. “Hey, I may be just a photographer, but I have a lot of connections. Why don’t you tell me his name, and I can look into it as well?” Peter rose from his position off the ground and grabbed the girl’s hand. “How about you let me escort you back to your ma, huh?”

Peter led the girl out of the alley, their shadows falling on the unconscious body.


	2. Rickety Tents

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things you should know:  
> * This is post Eyes Without a Face. To recap that very shortly, One of Peter’s closest friends, Robbie, was kidnapped by Doc Oc and made into a mindless slave because of his race. Robbie had previously worked for The Negro World as a reporter, because os the segregation laws in New York at the time.  
> * Peter Benjamin Parker is colorblind in this story.

Following the young girl into the small squatter town, Peter knew he was in trouble. All around him was the injustice Aunt May had told him about. Despair was heavy in the air. 

Peter knew how to fight bad guys, the crooks and criminals that lurked in the underworld, causing havoc to his city. The scars on his fists showed evidence of previous battles, where he felt he was doing his part by roughing up the riffraff. But he couldn’t shove his fists in the face of an invisible danger. Government negligence was not something one could punch and injustice was a hell of an evil.

The little girl led him between tents, had him duck under clotheslines, skirt around buckets of suspicious liquids. He saw mothers, babies tied around their back, washing dingy clothes in murky water, the look of exhaustion evident on their faces. Peter swore under his breath. 

Coming up to a dark gray tent tied to a broken light, the girl dropped his hand and ducked inside. Peter studied the raggedy tent, noting the lighter and darker grey sections indicating patches on it. Whispers were interrupted by the soft cry of a baby, followed by the cooing of its mom.

Peter couldn’t help but feel the rage that had been buried inside of him start to claw its way back up. New York used up people like matches before tossing them in the gutter. And knowing that criminals could rule from the shadows, taking cuts of money that so rightfully should go to these innocent people…

He didn’t know how tightly his fists were clenched until he felt the warm drops of his own blood.

The tent entrance lifted, revealing the little girl again, sitting next to a woman. She was the same shade of dark gray as the girl, her tightly coiled hair pulled into a sharp bun. Her face was beautiful, with soft eyes and a sharp jaw; however, Peter could see the bags under her eyes from where he stood. Exhaustion was written all over her face.

But he also recognised the deep mistrust in her eyes, the tightening of her grip around the baby boy in her arms. The world had not been kind to this woman, especially not now in 1934 New York.

A tense silence hung in the air, as both Peter and the woman stared at each other, unsure of what to do.

“Um, hello ma’am. My name is Peter Parker, I work for the Daily Bugle and yo-“

“We don’t need any pictures taken for the front page, thank you.” Her voice was dripping with venom. “I’ve seen your work, taking photos of us to appease the public, showcasing us in all our misery.”

Peter was taken aback. “N-No ma’am, I’m not here for that. Your daughter” Peter raised his hand and gestured at the girl, “mentioned that her father went missing, and I was hoping to help you out.”

The woman squinted her eyes. “What the hell is a pretty boy photographer gonna do about finding a black man in New York?”

Peter squirmed under her gaze as he realised this sounded insane. He was only a photographer, what did he know about investigations and missing people? He had really put the cart before the horse this time.

“Listen I uh...I have a lot of connections at my job, on both sides of the law.” Peter paused, remembering how the last time he cornered a thug in the ally, the cops had opened fire on him. “Maybe I’ll be able to dig something up, talk to my colleagues at The Negro World, maybe they know something.” 

The woman’s squint seemed to slice through him. “The day this world cares about a poor, black man is the same day you and those fine gentleman at The Negro World become colleagues; you probably just steal their information their story and pass it off as your own, all cause you’re white.” She spat at him. 

Peter couldn’t help but sag under the weight of all the troubles this woman had gone through. He knew discriminatory practices against colored folk were rampant. Nothing seemed to be able to change the law that divided them based off of pigment. And while Peter was very smart, he had no idea how to unravel centuries of violence and injustice against black Americans. It angered him beyond belief, especially considering that Robbie had to suffer due to these injustices...

 

“But…” she murmured, almost to herself, “a white man can get away with a lot more.” She looked at him, softness creeping into her face. “If you want to help us, we’ll take all we can get. My name is Imelda.” She shifted the baby to her right arm and held out her left hand for Peter to shake. 

Peter gently grasped her hand and gave it a firm shake. “I’ll do everything in my power and more, ma’am.”


	4. Dusty Shelves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm back beeech

Peter was beginning to realize that his connections at the Daily Bugle were pretty useless. Corruption had run rampant ever since the Green Goblin had taken hold of the city. He may be dead, but he ushered forward a new era of trickery and deceit that seemed to infiltrate every corner of life. Peter's questions surrounding the recent disappearance of the homeless, of those living in the shantytowns at the edge of the city, of those lower class colored workers were met with silence. Any attempts to collaborate with the police were met with tight-lipped grimaces and dirty glares. 

As he trudged to Bowery Welfare Center, tired from another day of disappointment, Peter was struggling to think of other ways to garner information. His contact at The Negro World had stopped replying to his calls and letters, claiming his superiors had threatened to fire him if he continued helping Peter. Jameson had been giving him busy work in an effort to limit his ability to investigate. Peter was beginning to think that the missing homeless pop was just the beginning of something much larger.

But how would he get answers if no one was willing to talk? He had a faint idea of how he could, but he didn't really like it. His Spider persona was known in the dark alleys and shady business room as a myth, a creature who, if you're not careful, would come in and dismantle your entire operation. Bounties were placed on his head, and he more often than not had to take care of triggermen on his nightly patrols. But to play into that reputation of intimidation and fear to get information, was that really something he wanted to do? Yes, he had killed more than his fair share of people, but to him they were just bad guys, paying the price. Was he willing to use fear against innocent people?

_Everyone takes their cut._

Peter was still struggling with his moral dilemma when he arrived at the center. Lights filled his vision as he looked on in horror at the center. Flames licked the side of the building, glass shards scattered the sidewalk in front of the building. Smoke filled the area, giving the entire scene a hazy overtone. Aunt May stood dumbfounded in the road as firefighters attempted to put out the raging fire. 

"Aunt May! Are you okay? What happened to the center?" Peter rushed over to his shaken aunt, grabbing her hands and looking into her tear-filled eyes. He could see the anger in her eyes, dampened slightly by the fear that sent her into shivering fits.

"Peter, oh Peter, it was terrible. I was cleaning up after the dinner shift, trying to gather blankets for the new family that came in tonight when a group of goons came in. They began smashing the dishes and flipping tables. Shouting about a nosy rat, putting their nose in no one's business. I was able to hide behind the curtains in the cafeteria when they started shouting for you, Peter. What have you gotten us into?" May broke her gaze away from the building to fixate her gaze on Peter. "They set the fire a couple of minutes later and ran out. I tried to get everyone out but -" Her voice drifted off, as she looked into Peter's eyes. "What have you done?"

Peter felt an immense amount of guilt crash over him as he turned to look at the building. "I was investigating the missing homeless pop for the Daily Bugle, I guess I poked my nose in where it doesn't belong. I'm so sorry Aunt May." 

Aunt May shrugged his hands off of her. "Next time, Peter, you decide to do some private eye work, make sure you're getting paid enough. And for god's sake make sure it doesn't come back to haunt you." Her words pierced through him as she turned away to make her way back to the tiny apartment they both shared.

As Peter stared at the smoking husk of what once was the welfare center, a decision formed in his mind. Fuck the consequences, it was time The Spider came out to play. 

 

***

On the other side of the city, deep in an abandoned warehouse, thugs were unloading containers and containers of a mysterious white substance out from the trucks. 

"Ay Boss, what's with all the powdered sugar? Making some donuts?" A scrawny man holding a Tommy gun snickered as he watched the product being unloaded. "Are you trying to bribe those fat coppers?" A loud guffaw echoed throughout the warehouse, followed by the chuckles of the rest of the thugs.

A dark figure stood off in the shadows, quietly watching the whole unfair play out. "Tony, if you're really curious, I'll invite you to the first test of the new drug. Why don't you take a sniff of the product?" The figure's quiet voice managed to ring out over the loud chuckles of the thugs.

Tony scowled as he grabbed a package of the white powder, reached into his coat and brought out his pocketknife. Flicking it open, he cut through the bag before tentatively sniffing. "It smells like vanilla, must be baking some -" His voice was cut off by a sharp gasp as he leaned back. Hallucinations of his wildest dreams filled his vision. Riches, dames, drugs. It was all within his reach. However, the hallucinations seemed to turn sour as he realized his hands and face had begun burning. 

The smell of singing flesh and the screams of the man echoed throughout the warehouse. The thugs looked terrified and seemed to back away from the containers they had been carrying. The sight of a human husk scared them shitless, as Tony was nothing but a searing corpse.

The dark figure stepped out of the shadows. "Anyone else want to question Quentin Beck?" Everyone quickly shook their heads and cowered away from the man.

"Then get back to work."


End file.
